


never had to walk like this before

by teamcap



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, M/M, accidentally 8k oops, of sorts, pennywise doesn't exist everyone lives, uh pining richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcap/pseuds/teamcap
Summary: “I’m in love with Eddie,” he says to his reflection. He’s known it for years, but his voice still shakes. He wants to cover his mouth, push the words back in and swallow them whole. He doesn’t. Instead, Richie says it again, and again, and a few more times until he doesn’t feel so scared. He repeats it like a prayer and carves it into the air around him so it exists somewhere other than his mind, and then he gets up and goes over to the mixtape on the floor. It’s cracked, it looks a bit like how his heart feels, and he thinks that maybe that’s okay.





	never had to walk like this before

**Author's Note:**

> here's two playlists i made for this. [this one](https://open.spotify.com/user/julielouise16/playlist/6JCHK1HrKbvg2NQbPY4MHA) is richie's mixtape that he listens to, and [this one](https://open.spotify.com/user/julielouise16/playlist/5Bf2XZecoqWHueTMJpMB92) is just one i made for the fic. enjoy!!

Richie is nine years old the first time he hears the word queer. He doesn’t know what it means, not really, but Henry Bowers says it like it’s the last thing anyone would ever want to be. They’re at recess, and Richie is playing with Bill and Eddie and Stan, just like always. Henry comes over and starts picking on them, and he pushes Eddie and calls him ‘mama’s boy’ and ‘queer’. Richie doesn’t know what the word means, but apparently Bill does. This doesn’t surprise Richie - he’s known him for three years and he’s pretty sure Bill knows everything. 

“Suh-so wh-what if he was?” Bill asks, and he doesn’t  _ look  _ particularly intimidating, but Richie thinks he’s brave. 

“Wh-what w-was th-that B-b-b-billy?” Henry laughs, and Richie feels anger burning up his insides.

“Fuck off, Bowers,” he says. “Leave them alone.” For a second he thinks Henry might punch him in the face, so he braces himself. He doesn’t, though, just stalks off with his goons following him, and Richie and his friends go back to playing. Eddie is dreadfully quiet on their way home that afternoon, and Richie slings an arm around his shoulders. 

“Somethin’ wrong, Eddie Spaghetti?” He asks, and Eddie smacks him as hard as he can. 

“Oh, fuck off, trashmouth,” he says. “You guys know I’m not, right? I’m not… queer, or whatever Henry said.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you were,” Bill says, and that’s that.

After dinner that night, Richie asks his mom what queer means. She tells him it’s when boys like each other the way that a boy and a girl are supposed to like each other and that there’s something wrong with people who are queers. Richie thinks about what Bill said -  _ it wouldn’t matter if you were  _ \- and he thinks his mom might be wrong. He thinks about how he doesn’t really like any of the girls at school and how he would much rather hold hands with Stan or Bill or Eddie, except Eddie would probably hit him if he tried because of the germs. Richie’s mom tells him that it’s a disease, and that people who are “like that” should be avoided. His heart breaks a little bit, but he doesn’t know it.

* * *

He’s thirteen, now, and Richie has never had a crush on a girl. It doesn’t really bother him - he would much rather spend time with Bill and Stan and especially Eddie - but sometimes he wonders if he  _ should _ have a crush on a girl. He’s supposed to, he figures, but he forgets about it when he’s with his friends.

One day Bill tells them that he has a crush on Beverly. She and Mike and Ben have only just started hanging out with them, and Richie loves them all already. He asks Bill how he knows, and Bill says that sometimes he gets nervous talking to her and when he’s around her he’s happier. Something about a fluttery feeling in his stomach when she laughs at his jokes or smiles at him. Richie thinks he understands all of those feelings, and it scares him a little bit. He thinks back to the day at the quarry, when Bev was sunbathing. He remembers seeing Bill and Ben and Stan looking at her, and looking right along with them. Not noticing anything particularly special, he had turned to ask Eddie what all the fuss was about. Eddie was staring at Beverly, too, and something angry and unpleasant settled itself in Richie’s chest. It’s still there, now, getting bigger when Richie sees Eddie talk to girls or laugh louder at jokes that aren’t his. Richie thinks it might be jealousy, and that scares him. 

They hold hands, sometimes, he and Eddie. If they watch a scary movie or go adventuring somewhere particularly gross or unsanitary, Richie will grab Eddie’s hand. Eddie always squeezes back, and Richie never thinks about what that means. He carries an extra inhaler for Eddie, whether he needs it or not, and he’s pretty sure Eddie carries around a dumb glasses repair kit, because of course he does, because he’s Eddie. The two of them always sit next to each other, like some sort of unspoken rule, and they touch a lot, more than any of the other losers. Richie will sling an arm around Eddie’s shoulders or Eddie will mess with Richie’s hands or put his feet across Richie’s lap and Richie will tap out a beat on his legs. They don’t talk about this, and Richie never says how much he likes holding Eddie’s hand. Richie likes Eddie the most in general, and he doesn’t ever tell anyone that, but it’s why he messes with him the most. Sometimes he gets the feeling that Eddie doesn’t really hate the nicknames Richie gives him, but they don’t talk about that either.

Sometimes Richie thinks that maybe he likes Eddie, but he knows he isn’t supposed to like boys, so he tries not to think about it.

All of them are at Bill’s house on a Friday night, and Beverly suggests that they play truth or dare. Eddie is sitting next to him and messing with his hand, tracing the lines on Richie’s palm. He does his best to ignore it and pay attention to the game instead. 

Richie has a lot of fun playing. He, of course, does everything he’s dared to do, including eating raw eggs and streaking down the street. He proclaims himself the master of dares after that one, because he know no one else would do something like that. Eddie seems to take this as a challenge, and picks dare on his next turn. Richie’s eyes go wide and Stan nearly chokes on his drink. Bev, who looks a bit like she never thought this would happen, takes her time thinking of a dare, and then she smiles.

“I dare you to kiss Richie on the cheek,” she says, “but only if you want to.” Richie’s heart starts beating in his fucking ears and he only hears some of what is being said, something about ‘do you know how many germs there are on a person’s face’ and ‘double that for Richie’ and ‘you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to’. Eddie groans about it a bit more, but after a minute he leans over and kisses Richie’s cheek, soft and quick. Richie feels like his entire face is on fire. 

“There,” Eddie says. “Moving on.” Richie’s next turn comes around, and his skin still feels like it’s burning, so he picks truth. 

“Oh,” Ben says. “Not what I was expecting. Um, do you like anyone?” Richie tries not to think about Eddie kissing his cheek, and says something about how Anna who sits behind Eddie in their math class is kind of cute. Eddie drops Richie’s hand. The rest of the night passes a bit awkwardly between them, but they’ve forgotten about it a few days later. They go back to normal, and Richie tries his damndest to crush any thought of liking Eddie as more than a friend. It doesn’t work.

He’s thirteen, and Richie never quite figures out how to tell Eddie how much he likes holding his hand, or that he thinks the person who sits in front of Anna in math class is much cuter than she is, so he doesn’t.

* * *

They’re fourteen when Bill tells them.

It’s the last week of summer before they start high school and they spend the whole day at the quarry, swimming and playing chicken and being kids. They get tired eventually, dry off and get dressed and sit down to eat the snacks that Mike brought because Mike always thinks of stuff like that. Richie leans back against a rock and so does Eddie, who shares a bag of chips with Richie out of habit even though there’s plenty of food.

“Are you guys scared of starting high school, too?” Beverly asks. Ben lets out a little ‘yeah’, Mike hums in agreement, Stan and Bill and Eddie nod. Richie does nothing, and Bev gives him a pointed look. “You aren’t nervous, not even a little bit?”

“Aye, lassie, Richie Tozier isn’t scared o’ nothin’!” He says, and tries not to think about Eddie sitting so close to him that their hands are brushing when they move. 

“That was awful,” Stan says, “what was that even supposed to be?”

“Scottish,” Eddie supplies. “He’s been doing it every day and it still isn’t any fucking better.” There’s a hint of fondness in his voice that makes Richie’s heart ache and he squirms under the look Beverly is giving him. 

“That’s not the only thing I’ve been doing every day. Tell your mom I can’t make it tonight, okay, Eds?” Eddie rolls his eyes and hits Richie on the arm.

“Beep beep, asshole. Don’t call me that.” Richie grins at him, but Bill clears his throat before anyone can say anything else.

“I h-have to t-t-tell you guys suh-something,” he says, and everyone turns to him and listens. 

“You can tell us anything, Bill,” Beverly offers him an encouraging smile, and his cheeks go a bit red. Richie watches his friend carefully - Bill clenches and unclenches his fists once, takes a deep breath. He glances at Stan, just for a second. Richie thinks he understands. 

“Oh-okay,” he says, looks around until his gaze lands on Beverly. “I, um. I luh-luh-like b-boys.” Richie tenses up, just for a second, and hopes no one noticed. To his right, Eddie is playing with Richie’s hand, and gives no indication that he noticed anything - he’s focused on Bill, a soft expression on his face, and Richie’s gut twists. “I luh-like girls, tuh-too,” Bill is saying. Richie is doing his best to listen, but he can’t help but notice how the sunlight is hitting Eddie’s hair and skin and the small smile on his face. “I d-don’t know if yuh-you can like buh-both, though.”

“You can, I think,” Beverly says, and Bill’s face lights up. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Cuh-cool,” Bill smiles. “You guh-guys are my best f-friends. I w-wanted you t-to know.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Stan says. “I’m proud of you.” He’s looking at Bill like he hung the fucking stars in the sky, and Richie wouldn’t be surprised if Bill actually had, but he knows that look. Rather, he knows how it feels to look at someone like that. Bill smiles back at him, and the conversation turns to what movies they’re watching this weekend and who is hosting the sleepover. Richie tunes it out - they’ll go to Bill’s, because they always go to Bill’s, and they’ll watch whatever movies Ben brings, because Ben always brings the best movies.

Eddie has stopped messing with Richie’s hand, tracing lines and shapes on the fabric of his jeans instead. It isn’t a new occurrence, it isn’t strange for he and Eddie to be sitting so close to each other or touching each other in some way, whether it’s Eddie messing with Richie’s hands or Richie throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. It’s normal. Richie wants it to be normal, but every time Eddie’s hand brushes his he feels a bit like he might explode. Sometimes he thinks Eddie knows, and he does it on purpose. Sometimes he thinks Eddie might feel like that, too, but he always kills those thoughts before he can get his hopes up too high. 

He turns his attention back to the conversation just in time to hear that everyone is ready to leave. Ben offers to bike to Beverly’s house with her and blushes furiously when she says yes. Richie picks his bike up off the ground, ready to walk it to Eddie’s house like he always does, but Stan stops him. He tells everyone else that they need to talk about a project for school and they’ll catch up later, and Richie swears that Eddie’s face falls a little, but he pushes the thought away. He watches them bike away and then turns to say something, ask what’s going on, but Stan opens his mouth before he can.

“Do you hate Bill?” Richie stares at him, dumbfounded, trying to understand why Stan would ask that.

“Do I - what?”

“Do you hate Bill?”

“Is this a joke? It isn’t very funny,” Richie says, “leave the jokes to me next time.”

“Beep beep,” Stan says. “When Bill told us that you got all weird. You tensed up and I know you don’t think anyone noticed but I did and, honestly, Beverly probably did too.”  _ Fuck, _ Richie thinks, because he had really, really hoped no one had seen.

“No, that wasn’t, I-,” he struggled to find the words, and Stan cuts him off.

“Look, if you have a problem with it, or if you want to stop being friends with him, or whatever,-”

“Stan, shut up,” Richie interrupts. “I don’t hate Bill. I could never hate Bill, not unless we got sent to, like, an alternate dimension or something.”

“But when he told us you-,” Stan begins, but Richie shakes his head,

“That wasn’t- no. I don’t hate Bill. That wasn’t about Bill,” he says, and he doesn’t know if he can find the right words to explain. He doesn’t really have any words for whatever is going on. “That wasn’t about Bill. It was about me. I’m, I don’t know. Something.” Richie is pretty sure that doesn’t make any sense, and he’s pretty sure that Stan can hear how fast his heart is beating. Stan nods and lets out a shaky breath,

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Yeah. Me too.”

They share a look, and Richie doesn’t feel so alone in this anymore.

* * *

Richie is fifteen, staring his own reflection down in the mirror, trying to make himself say it. The words won’t come out. He knows them, he sometimes feels like they’re etched into his heart and his bones and his being. He’s never said them out loud, because if he does that then everything is real.

He likes boys, but he can’t say it out loud. He doesn’t like girls, not like that, but he can’t say it out loud. He likes Eddie, and he definitely can’t say that out loud. 

An hour passes while he sits in front of his mirror. He feels like his reflection is mocking him. Maybe it lives in another dimension where things are different - maybe reflection Richie has said all those things out loud. Maybe reflection Eddie likes reflection Richie too. 

Another hour passes, and Richie has had enough. He wants to say it so badly. He can feel the words climbing up his throat, but his mouth won’t open. And then it does.

“I like boys,” he says, and he cries like some kind of goddamn cliche. “I’m gay,” he says, and his chest doesn’t feel so tight anymore. He says it so many times he thinks his throat will be raw the next day, but he doesn’t really care. Richie can’t remember a time he felt so happy, like nothing can ever bring him down. The words sit in the air around him and he’s in awe of them. Then, he decides he needs to tell someone else. 

He meets Bev in the park the next day, shares a cigarette with her, listens to her complain about her history teacher and how many times she nicked her fingers sewing patches onto her overalls. The words sit in his chest, there’s a lull in conversation, but he doesn’t know if it’s the right time. It doesn’t seem to matter much.

“I’m gay.” They force their way out of his throat, the words, and he waits for Beverly to laugh or ask if he’s joking. 

“Yeah,” she takes a drag of the cigarette and blows out the smoke. The tight, nervous feeling in Richie’s chest eases again. 

“Yeah?”

“I knew. I mean, I didn’t really know until right now because you hadn’t told me,” she says. “But I knew.” That makes sense, and Richie feels better, somehow, feels like everything he’s been going through is real. It isn’t in his head. Bev could see it too. They sit in silence for a moment, and Bev passes him the cigarette. He inhales, exhales, looks up at the sky where the sun is peeking through the clouds. He hands the cigarette back and readjusts his glasses.

“I think I love Eddie,” he says softly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bev tilt her head in consideration. 

“I know.”

“Okay,” Richie says, and because he trusts Bev’s judgement, he asks, “do I tell him?”

“I mean, yeah,” she nods, blows out smoke and crushes the cigarette under the toe of her boot. “Obviously.”

“I don’t know how,” Richie admits. “How do you tell your best friend of nine years that you love him?”

“You just tell him.” Beverly says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Richie almost laughs out loud. 

“Great plan, Einstein,” he mutters. “What do I do when he tells me he hates me and never wants to talk to me again? I’ll have to go into fucking witness protection, leave the state and change my name and all that.”

“Sure, if you want to,” Bev smirks at him. “Eddie could never hate you, Rich, everyone knows that.” Some part of Richie’s brain does know that, really, but he can’t help but wonder.

“I put this fucking song on every mixtape I make him, Bev,” he says quickly, like he has to say it now, like the words have an expiration date. “All of them, from the first one I gave him on his birthday last year. He’s never mentioned it. I mean, why would he? I give him these mixes and there’s rock and all the other shit I listen to and at the end there’s a shitty sappy love song? Who does that?”

“You’re scared,” Bev replies. “Maybe Eddie is scared, too.” Richie doesn’t say anything. Bev stands and tucks the pack of cigarettes into the pocket of her shorts. “Tell him.” Richie nods.

“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Ringwald. I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“Fuck off,” Bev deadpans, but she smiles. “Good luck.”

Four days later, Richie bikes to Eddie’s house. It’s well after midnight, but he knows Eddie won’t care. He climbs up to Eddie’s window, taps on it a few times. Eddie opens it, and he’s wearing Richie’s hoodie, and it’s practically swallowing him whole. Richie thinks it might be the damn cutest thing he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

“When are you gonna learn to use the back door like a normal person?” Eddie asks as Richie climbs through the window and onto Eddie’s bed. He settles himself against the pillows and smiles.

“If I did that your mom might see me. She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off, and I know how jealous you get, Eds. I’m just lookin’ out for ya.”

“You’re so gross.” Eddie’s voice is fond, and he looks so tiny in the hoodie that Richie is pretty sure his heart is going to burst out of his chest. 

“I have to tell you something,” he says after a bit of silence. His voice shakes a little and he curses himself for it.

“You can tell me anything, Richie, you know that,” Eddie says softly, and he smiles at him, and that fucking smile makes Richie feel like he can do anything.

“I’m gay,” he says, quieter than he had intended. “I like boys. Y’know.” For a moment, nothing happens, and then Eddie smiles even wider than before. Richie feels like he’s flying.

“Richie, I’m so happy for you. I know it isn’t easy. Thank you for telling me.” He pulls Richie into a hug, and he smells like strawberries and toothpaste and Richie’s fucking hoodie. “I’m really proud of you.” It’s so easy, easier than Richie thought it would be, and he’s grateful for that. They talk for a long time, about everything and nothing, but Richie can’t make himself tell Eddie how he feels. It’s too real, it changes things, and he wants things to stay exactly how they are, at least for now. Eddie lets him spend the night, and if they sleep a little closer than usual, neither of them mention it. 

* * *

Richie is sixteen, and he loves Eddie, and he can’t tell him.

They’ve been dancing around each other for years, touching more than friends typically do, spending so much time together that Ben thought they really were dating. Richie hates it. That’s all he wants, and he can’t have it.

He makes Eddie mixtapes until his hands ache, he loses count, and he keeps making them. The song is always there. Eddie doesn’t bring it up. Richie hears it in his head sometimes, when Eddie talks or laughs or just exists in the same space as him, hears shit like  _ and I want you here with me from tonight until the end of time  _ and he hates himself for it. 

And then, sometimes, Eddie does things. He holds Richie’s hand a little longer, sits a little closer, blushes when Richie flirts with him. Those are the times Richie almost thinks he has a chance, but he’s still in the practice of not getting his hopes up. And then he does.

They’re playing truth or dare - it’s a tradition for the losers now, and Richie loves it. He always gets the most outlandish dares, and he always does them. They all know he has a personal goal to never pick truth unless he absolutely has to - like the time Stan dared him to pick truth on his next turn and he had to do it because he never turns down a dare. They don’t ask why he hates truths, and he doesn’t tell them it’s because he picked truth when they were fourteen and Eddie stopped holding his hand. 

They aren’t holding hands now, but Eddie has his head on Richie’s shoulder, so he doesn’t care too much. He’s tapping out a beat on Eddie’s thigh, and if it’s  _ that  _ song, neither of them say anything.

Richie watches as Bill tries and fails to catch food in his mouth that Stan launches with a tennis racket and Bev blushes furiously when she admits she has a crush on someone, and then it’s Eddie’s turn.

“Do you like anyone?” Beverly asks him, and it’s the most boring question in the world, but Richie thinks he might hang on every word of Eddie’s answer. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “Not really.”

“Aw, come on, Eddie,” Bev urges, glancing at Richie for a moment. “Don’t you think Jenny Curtis from our science class is cute?”

“No,” Eddie says. “The kid that sits next to her - Aaron, is that his name? He’s cute.” Richie feels like his heart is going to burst from Eddie’s news, but he can also feel jealousy heating up his insides. What’s so special about Aaron?

“Oh,” Beverly says, and then she gives Richie a  _ look _ . He hates it. “I guess so.”

“Hold on,” Mike looks at Eddie, confused. “Did you just-,”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts. “I think I did.” They all nod, Bill tells Eddie that he’s proud of him, and they finish the game without much more excitement. After they’re done, Richie follows Bev away from the group to smoke, and she corners him.

“You can tell him now,” she says around the cigarette in her mouth.

“What?”

“You can tell Eddie that you love him. I know you didn’t tell him last year.”

“I don’t want to tell him.” Bev rolls her eyes.

“Richie, I love you, but stop acting like you aren’t in love with him.”

“I’m not  _ in _ love with anyone.”

“Whatever,” she shrugs and hands him the cigarette. “I see how he looks at you. You need to tell him.”

“Why? Because you’re telling me to?”

“Because you deserve to be happy, jackass. Everyone does.” Richie thinks he sees her glance at Ben, but he doesn’t really care right now. 

He spends the next few weeks considering Beverly’s words. Does he deserve to be happy? Maybe. He thinks about how happy he would be if he and Eddie were something, anything, more than just best friends. He thinks about the song and the mixtapes and the hand holding, and he doesn’t tell Eddie.

* * *

Richie is seventeen and Eddie is avoiding him.

He has been for two weeks, and Richie can’t figure out why. The more he thinks about it, the more confused he gets. He made Eddie a mixtape for his birthday, which wasn’t anything new. The song was on there, which wasn’t anything new. Eddie had stopped sitting so close to him, tracing his palms, leaning on his shoulder. That was new. 

Richie finally decided there was only one explanation - Eddie knew how Richie felt, and the feelings were one-sided. It made Richie’s heart ache to think about. All he’d wanted to do for years was be with Eddie, and for a little while he had thought there was a real chance that Eddie felt the same way, and then they stopped hanging out so much. Eddie stopped inviting him to sleep over, stopped walking home from school with him, stopped going to get ice cream with him after seeing a dumb movie at the Aladdin. Then he had basically stopped talking to Richie altogether. That was the worst part, the part that made Richie’s entire body ache from how upset he was. No one else liked his jokes the way Eddie did, no one else fired back the way Eddie did. 

Halfway through the second week, Richie realizes just how much he misses Eddie. He’s driving around with nowhere to be and he turns the radio on and it’s that fucking song,  _ you’re always on my mind, in my heart, in my soul,  _ and Richie has to pull into a parking lot because tears are blurring his vision and he  _ hates  _ himself. He hates himself for putting that song on every mixtape and for never telling Eddie and he hates himself the most for loving Eddie so much, more than anything. 

Richie wipes away the tears on his cheeks and drives to Stan’s house. 

Stan’s dad lets him in, tells him Stan is in his room. He runs up the stairs, fully intending to barge into the bedroom, but he stops when he hears the music coming from the other side of the door. Stan is listening to The Cure, because of course he is, because he’s a fucking cliche, and Richie can relate to that. He knocks on the door, louder and louder until he’s sure Stan can hear it and is just ignoring him. Annoyed, Richie pushes the door open to see Stan glaring at him from his bed. 

“Can you knock?” Stan asks, and Richie scoffs at him. 

“I’ve been knocking, dipshit, you just didn’t let me in.”

“I don’t want you in my room.”

“Too bad,” Richie says, stepping fully inside and shutting the door. “Why the fuck are you blasting The Cure?” Stan shoots him a look, but turns down the music a little. He tilts his head side to side for a moment, as if considering what to say, then looks straight at Richie. 

“I’m in love with Bill,” he says finally. Richie rolls his eyes.

“Thanks, captain obvious, I know that. Everyone knows that except our dear Bill himself.”

“You love Eddie,” Stan counters. “And everyone knows except Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, sitting down on the bed. “Doesn’t matter. Good ol’ Eds doesn’t feel the same anyway. Been avoiding me for going on two weeks now.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew, Stan the man, I wish I knew.”

“What did you do? He’s been putting up with your shit for years, the nicknames and everything.”

“My guess is that he figured out how I feel and now he hates me,” Richie mumbles. “Won’t ever talk to me again or something.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Richie asks, but Stan just looks at him. “Maybe I’ll go into witness protection like I told Bev. Help me pick a new name, Stanny. What about John Bender? Peter Venkman?”

“That isn’t how witness protection works,” Stan says. “And even if it was, that’s so extreme. You just need to get over him.”

“Unlikely,” Richie hums. “I’ll get over Eddie when you get over Bill. Who, by the way, still likes Beverly. If you couldn’t tell.” 

“I’m trying.” Stan tries to keep his voice flat, Richie can tell, but the words are shaky.

“Yeah.” Neither of them say anything for a minute, and Richie looks at Stan and thinks of something. “I have an idea.”

“Leave me out of it.”

“No, shut up,” Richie turns so he’s facing Stan. “Listen, Eddie doesn’t love me back and Bill doesn’t love you back, not how we want them to. We need to get over them, right? So what if we- uh- well.”

“Spit it out, Tozier,” Stan says. Richie feels like he’s closer than he was a moment ago.

“Do you want to make out?” Stan looks taken aback for a second, and then looks like he’s considering.

“Sure,” he says, and leans in. His mouth is warm on Richie’s, it’s nice. Richie moves his mouth, runs his tongue along Stan’s lip so he opens his. Stan leans back and Richie is pretty much on top of him, but he doesn’t think about it. He puts his hands in Stan’s hair, pulls a little, and shivers when Stan puts his hands on his hips. Richie kisses down Stan’s jawline and Stan leaves a hickey on Richie’s collarbone. Richie tries not to think about Eddie, and it mostly works. Before Richie leaves, Stan kisses him one more time, softer.

“We could, uh, do that again,” Richie offers. “If you want.”

They do, a few times, and then almost daily. Richie walks home with Stan, and they listen to music and make out. They keep it to their houses for a while, and then they don’t. They kiss behind the school, and sometimes in front of the losers. Sometimes they hold hands. It’s nice, even when Richie thinks about how much softer Eddie’s hands are. None of the others ask about it, and Richie counts his blessings, because he wouldn’t know where to start.

Eddie, it seems, has a constant unreadable expression when Richie and Stan act like a couple. Richie doesn’t know what to do with that - sometimes he thinks Eddie almost looks heartbroken, and then he decides that’s just his imagination. 

Stan and Richie start to hang out alone more often, start to skip the group plans. Eddie and Richie hardly talk at all, and never hang out. Eddie spends a lot of time with Bill, and Richie tries to ignore the burning feeling in his gut. It almost works. Stan starts being short with Bill and particularly Eddie, and Bev is in a permanent state of giving Richie ‘fix-whatever-the-fuck-is-going-on’ looks. He doesn’t really know how, so he doesn’t.

The seven of them are all together, a rare occurrence since Richie and Stan started kind-of-dating, and they’re at the quarry, and everything is okay until it isn’t.

“I th-think there’s a nuh-new movie coming out this w-weekend,” Bill says. “Does uh-anyone want to go? Stan?” Stan almost rolls his eyes, Richie can tell, but he doesn’t. 

“Sorry,” Stan says, voice tense. “Richie and I have plans. Maybe Eddie will go with you, you guys are practically attached at the hip lately.” Eddie and Bill both look like they want to fire back, but Bev interrupts.

“No, okay, what the fuck is going on?” She looks straight at Richie, and he just shrugs.

“Why, Beverly dahling, what on Earth do you mean?”

“Cut the shit, Richie,” she says. “Whatever the hell is happening between the four of you needs to be solved. It’s making me and Mike and Ben uncomfortable. Anyone care to explain?” No one speaks for a minute, and then Eddie laughs a little.

“You know what, Bev, I wish I fucking knew what was going on. Those assholes have been talking shit to Bill and I for a month now as if we did something wrong. As if we all don’t know that Stan has been fawning over Bill for literal years? As if we all don’t know that I’m head over fucking heels for Richie and he blew me off to go make out with Stan? I, personally, would love an explanation for that shit.” Richie feels like he might throw up.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” Stan spits. “You can’t just fucking say that, it isn’t your business.”

“Well, you weren’t gonna fucking do it,” Eddie fires back.

“Wait, wuh-what?” Bill asks. “I d-didn’t know.”

“I mean, I’ve clearly been in love with you for years, asshole. Everyone else knew.”

“Eddie, what the  _ fuck _ ,” Richie says. “What the fuck? If that’s true why the fuck did you avoid me for two weeks, what the fuck?”

“Why do you care? You clearly found a way to preoccupy yourself.” Richie doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything, and neither does anyone else. They settle into an angry silence, and Richie can feel tears in his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. It feels like years pass before anyone speaks up.

“I nuh-never knew, Stan,” Bill says softly, and Richie looks up. Next to him, Stan shifts nervously, then sucks in a deep breath.

“I’ve kind of been staring at you since we were thirteen, you moron,” he says, but there’s no malice in his voice.

“I’m suh-sorry. I didn’t know and y-you deserve better th-than me, anyway.” That, apparently, is the last straw for Stan. He moves from his spot next to Richie and gets closer to Bill.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You’re so good, and you’re brave and smart and handsome and I hated seeing you pine after Beverly for so long because she kind of clearly likes Ben and-,” 

Bill cuts him off then, closing the space between them and kissing Stan, who falls into Bill’s arms like he’s always wanted to be there. Bev and Ben are smiling, and Richie notices their intertwined fingers, and Mike is smiling, and Richie can’t breathe. He puts his head down, then lifts it again. Eddie is staring at him, he can tell, but he doesn’t look. Richie looks at Stan and Bill instead, and they look so happy, and Richie can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he thinks it’s so fucking stupid because Eddie is the one who has asthma.  _ Or does he? _ Richie can’t remember. Richie can’t breathe. He stands up so quickly that he almost falls over, and everyone turns their attention to him, and  _ fuck _ . Beverly asks him something but his heart is beating so hard that he can’t hear it. Can everyone else hear his heartbeat, he wonders, and it’s racing, beating so hard that they must be able to. Eddie has a look on his face that makes Richie want to throw up or scream or both, so he runs. 

He thinks about how he wants that, he wants the love Stan and Bill clearly have, more than anything. He wants so badly to be happy, why can’t he be  _ happy? _ He keeps running, and he thinks he might be crying but he can’t really tell. 

Richie is content to keep running, maybe for the rest of his life, but something grabs his arm. He turns around, and it’s Eddie, and his heart hurts. 

“You followed me. Why did you fo-,” he begins, but he doesn’t get to finish. Eddie is staring at him with more anger than he’s ever seen on his best friend’s face, and then he slaps him. The shock makes Richie stumble back a bit, and he gapes at Eddie, eyes wide. His cheek burns from the impact. “Eds, what the actual fuck?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, Richie!” Eddie yells. “You’re such an  _ asshole _ .”

“Me? You’re the one who ju-,”

“Beep beep,” Eddie spits. “Let me fucking talk because this is important. What the fuck is your problem? You,” he stops for a second, then looks Richie dead in the eyes. “You flirt with me for years and you tell stupid jokes that always make me laugh even if I wish they didn’t. You make me those dumb mixtapes and you put that song on all of them and what the fuck was I supposed to do with that? Was I supposed to talk to you about that?”

“I mean-,”

“I thought it was a joke, Richie, some shit that you thought was hilarious. Then I started taking it seriously because you kept doing it and then you pull this shit? That isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that you sneak into my bedroom for years like some kind of fairytale. You make me fall in love with you and your stupid hair and your stupid freckles and your dumb fucking hair and your ugly ass glasses that make you look like a bug. You let me borrow your hoodies that are too big, way too big, but I don’t care because they smell like cinnamon and cigarettes and you. And then you pull that shit with Stan? You make me rethink fucking everything and feel like I was crazy for ever thinking you might feel the same way, and then you run the fuck away before we can even talk about it? You’re an asshole, Richie Tozier.”

Richie still sort of feels like he can’t breathe, sort of feels like the entire world is crumbling down around him. He doesn’t know what to do with any of that and his heart is trying to break out of his chest and Eddie is staring at him, waiting. Richie wants to explain himself, wants to tell Eddie everything, but the words won’t come out. He panics and does the only thing he can think of - pushes Eddie, hard. He doesn’t fall, but he does stumble and ends up with his back against a tree. Richie moves closer and Eddie looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Richie steps into his space and grabs onto Eddie’s shirt, and Eddie is staring at him, and Richie silently curses him for being so fucking beautiful. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m a fucking idiot and you know it,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on Eddie’s. He moves his hands so one is on Eddie’s hip and one is cupping the side of his face. Eddie tangles his hands in Richie’s hair, runs his tongue across Richie’s bottom lip so he opens his mouth. Richie kind of feels like he’s going to burst into flames, and then it’s over. Eddie puts his hands on Richie’s chest and shoves him off, gives him a disgusted look and walks off without a word. 

Richie stands there for several minutes; he doesn’t really understand what happened, and he doesn’t want to think about it, but his brain won’t let him think about anything else. He leans against the tree and tries to force back the tears that are threatening to fall again. 

He sits there for a while, and then he hears voices. Looking up, he sees the losers walking toward him, and Bev offers him a small smile. 

“We brought your bikes,” Mike says. “Where’s Eddie?” Richie shrugs, makes a vague hand motion in the direction Eddie had gone.

“Is there anything we can do?” Bev asks, because of course she does. He shakes his head and waves them on. They go, and he doesn’t miss the looks Bill and Stan are giving each other or the blush on Stan’s cheeks. It makes him hate himself a little more. He wants that, he wants that so badly, and he fucked it all up. And he feels so empty, because Eddie was right, because he  _ is _ an asshole. Because Eddie had confessed and he didn’t say anything. 

He realizes something then, and he gets on his feet and back to his house faster than he ever has before. Richie runs up the stairs two at a time when he gets home, ignoring whatever his mom says in his general direction. When he gets to his room he locks the door and goes to his closet, digging through the pile of clothes at the bottom until his hand grazes a torn up cardboard box. He pulls it out and dumps the contents on the floor - movie ticket stubs, polaroids from Mike, letters that had all been covering the mixtapes Richie can hardly stand to look at. Six of them, plastic cases shining under his ceiling light. They have titles like ‘songs that remind me of you’ and ‘songs we could sing together’ and he feels like he might throw up. Richie doesn’t know how many tapes he’s made for Eddie, how many times he’s haphazardly thrown one at him and said something like  _ “trust me, Eds, your music taste is shit, all these songs are much better.”  _ Eddie usually tells him to fuck off, tells him not to call him Eds, but he still listens. Eddie has never heard any of the ones Richie is staring at right now. Richie sort of hopes he never does, because Eddie would probably threaten to kick his ass or something if he did. 

Richie shakes his head, grabs a mixtape - ‘songs for you’. He sort of feels like it’s the very last one he should be listening to, but he puts it in his walkman anyway. The music starts, too loud but not loud enough, and he’s determined to listen to the whole thing. He gets through  _ when I feel alone, I reach for you, and you bring me home  _ and  _ let ‘em say we’re crazy, I don’t care about that  _ and Richie thinks he might be able to do this, and then it’s fucking  _ no one needs you more than I need you.  _ Richie yanks his headphones off, takes the tape out, throws it as far from himself as he can. The words sit in his ears until he can’t stand it anymore, walks to the mirror hanging on the back of his door, sits down in front of it. 

He feels much more nervous than he did when he was fifteen, mumbling a vague coming out to himself at three in the morning. His cheek is tinged red where Eddie hit him and he ignores the tears rolling down to his chin. 

“I’m in love with Eddie,” he says to his reflection. He’s known it for years, but his voice still shakes. He wants to cover his mouth, push the words back in and swallow them whole. He doesn’t. Instead, Richie says it again, and again, and a few more times until he doesn’t feel so scared. He repeats it like a prayer and carves it into the air around him so it exists somewhere other than his mind, and then he gets up and goes over to the mixtape on the floor. It’s cracked, it looks a bit like how his heart feels, and he thinks that maybe that’s okay.

In bed that night he puts his hand on his chest, feels the thumping of his heartbeat as he whispers things like “I’m in love with Eddie, and that isn’t a bad thing,” to himself and to the walls and to the cracked mixtape. Richie’s heart is a little hesitant, a little broken, a little worn, but he thinks that’s okay.

He stays home for the next few days. Bev and Bill both call and invite him to come with everyone else to the movies or the quarry, but he doesn’t really feel up to the company, and he doesn’t really want to see Eddie. He gets bored soon enough, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He waits until Friday, because he knows everyone is at Bill’s place for movie night, so he won’t see them around town. It’s almost cold when he leaves the house, and he wishes he had his favorite hoodie, the warmest one that’s frayed and the edges, but he knows Eddie still has it. That’s kind of okay, because Eddie always looks so damn cute in Richie’s hoodies, but thinking about it makes his heart ache. 

Richie wanders around aimlessly for a while, and when he looks up, he’s on Eddie’s street. He almost wants to cry, but he doesn’t - he turns around instead, ready to walk back home.

“Richie.”

That stops him. It’s so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it, almost thinks he’s imagining it. He turns back around.

Eddie is standing on his front porch, a bag of trash in his hand. He was clearly just going to throw it out, and Richie thinks that’s just his fucking luck. Eddie is wearing his hoodie. Richie gives a little half wave, turns away again.

“Richie.” It’s louder this time, and he turns back. Eddie is looking at him, waves him over, eyes pleading. Richie goes, because he can never say no to Eddie. 

“Hey,” Richie says, and it sounds so forced, so awkward that he wants to curl up in a ball and never see the light of day again. Eddie opens his mouth to say something and Richie flinches involuntarily, remembering what happened the last time they spoke. A knowing look appears on Eddie’s face.

“Oh God, oh fuck, I hit you. Fuck, Richie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you, and I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff, you didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I kind of did. I shouldn’t have, fuck,” he stumbles over the words and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “I shouldn’t have pulled that shit with Stan. It was bad for all of us and I didn’t know what to do so I took it out on you and Bill and you’re both amazing and what I did fucking sucks. I’m sorry.” Eddie looks like he might cry, and Richie feels the same. He looks away. 

“I didn’t mean to avoid you for two weeks. Fuck, that was so dumb, I’m sorry, Richie.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you, Eds, and I probably shouldn’t have kissed you. This is all my fault anyway.” Eddie doesn’t correct the nickname, and they keep apologizing until they run out of things to apologize for. Richie looks at Eddie again, and his expression is softer now. They’re silent for a minute, and then Richie speaks up. “For what it’s worth, I really did love you.”

Eddie’s face falls and  _ fuck _ , that’s the exact opposite of what Richie wanted to happen. The hoodie is swallowing him and he looks a little broken. Richie understands that.

“Did?” Eddie asks, and his voice cracks. Richie closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“Do. I do love you. I have since we were thirteen, and I think I always will. I’m sorry you had to put up with all my shit. You didn’t deserve that, Eds, you deserved so much better. But, God, I do. I do love you, more than anything.” Eddie sucks in a shaky breath and drops the trash bag. He reaches up, cups Richie’s face in his hands, and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet and warm and Richie thinks if he died right now he wouldn’t mind, not if kissing Eddie was the last thing he ever got to do. Eddie steps back, and the look in his eyes makes Richie’s heart swell.

“I’m so in love with you, Richie.” 

Richie doesn’t really have it in him to fight back tears anymore, so he lets them fall. Eddie is crying, too, and Richie grabs him and pulls him close, holds him like he’ll die if he lets go. He thinks he might. 

“I love you, you idiot, I love you so fucking much,” Eddie says. Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and spins him - Eddie lets out a yelp and Richie doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy. They break apart and Eddie gives him that fucking smile, the one that makes Richie feel invincible. Eddie laughs, then and looks at him fondly, then hits him on the arm.

“Ow! God, we were having a moment, Eds.”

“That fucking song, Richie, really? You’re a goddamn cliche.” Eddie is still smiling, and Richie knows he’s never been so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @lesbianallymadej on tumblr if u wanna come talk to me abt this or anything!!


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